


Mischief Managed, Damage Done

by Cosmic_Firestorm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Brotherly Angst, Detention, Major Character Injury, Mid-Canon, Mischief, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Plans For The Future, Promises, Protectiveness, Punishment, Wrestling, breaking rules, light banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Firestorm/pseuds/Cosmic_Firestorm
Summary: As if Professor Umbridge hadn't done enough, she went on and did the unthinkable: she separated the Weasley twins. It isn't long before they're back together again, but by that time she's already taught them far more than they ever wanted to know.





	Mischief Managed, Damage Done

When Ron spread the news about Professor Umbridge’s version of detention, Fred and George, fantastically enough, didn’t seem particularly worried. Ron thought they were crazy for acting like it was business as usual, pulling their various pranks and shenanigans, but they had simply linked their arms together over each of his shoulders, a reassuring gesture that was definitely _not_ reassuring.

“Ron,” George sighed gently, “if you don’t know how we think by now—”

“You probably never will,” Fred concluded.

“We’ve already got a plan!”

“Of course you do,” Ron muttered reluctantly, shrugging off his much taller brothers before they knocked him over by leaning their combined weight on him.

It wasn’t long after Umbridge extinguished the spark they were throwing around that Fred and George made sure they caught her attention again. Fred had challenged a complete stranger from Ravenclaw to a nice little wrestling match and while George was overseeing it, he solemnly swore—with a grin—that he would judge without bias and not intervene in any way.

It took barely thirty seconds before Umbridge’s heels were clicking down the hall toward them, her wand swished with barely-maintained composure and Fred was being pulled off the unfortunate Ravenclaw by his collar. To his credit, he didn’t even make a squeak as the shirt tightened around his neck; in fact, he only grinned more widely, anticipating the trouble he was in.

“You— _both_ of you—come with me,” the Toad requested, several muscles in her jaw working as she escorted the twins toward her office.

As they flanked the professor, Fred and George exchanged glances over her head, almost admiring her unique ability to fume sweetly. _Almost_. Everything was set. Stuffed inside the extra pockets they’d sewn into their shirts were several of their homemade specialties. Just last night, they had perfected the grainy sugar-like surprise they would be using in the soon-to-be imminent future.

Like every other ignorant teacher, Umbridge could barely tell them apart, so she was sure to take both of them in to make sure the “true culprit” was properly punished, whichever one that may be. They had performed their signature bait-and-switch hundreds, if not thousands of times. While one was making a show of being contrite and polite and generally being a good diversion, the other would make sure Umbridge got her… _proper_ amount of cream and sugar.

“Now,” Umbridge exhaled shortly as they reached the bottom of the stairs leading to her office, “I’m certain you are both entirely complicit in this matter, as you always seem to be, so I have no choice but to punish both of you accordingly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused together, guiltless as could be. Umbridge offered a pinched smile in return, reaching forward and gently taking hold of George’s arm.

“Well, then…How about you first?”

Just like that, the one kind of trouble alert the twins did not like went off. George’s smile never faltered, but something in his eyes must have given away that being separated wasn’t part of the plan. Umbridge tilted her head, the picture of innocence, but the malice in her eyes hurt to look at.

“Surely you don’t want your brother seeing you punished…It would probably upset him, wouldn’t it? And as I’ve gotten to know you and your patterns, it’s become more and more clear to me that you two spend every waking _moment_ together. It’s—” Umbridge tsked lightly, looking between them with nothing short of sympathy. “It’s unhealthy, and I have no intention of sustaining that poor habit while I’m attempting to uproot others, so…shall we, Mr. Weasley?”

George and Fred shared another glance, one which communicated much more than they could hope to say in such a short time. Even that was fleeting, as Umbridge pulled on George’s arm and broke their eye contact barely three seconds after they made it.

“Wait here, please, Mr. Weasley,” she called amiably to Fred, who stared back up at her without saying a word, his face a stiff, expressionless mask.

***

“What does yours say?”

For the first time that he could recall, Fred hated those words. It was a simple question, four words that he and George had spoken to each other more times than they could count. It was something they said every year at Christmastime when they looked at the tags on their packages, making sure Mum had given it to the right brother. More often than not, she hadn’t, but they accepted the gifts anyway just to confuse her.

What George meant by it now was this: “What did she make you say?” But that wasn’t right and he would never say it aloud. No one could _make_ the Weasley twins do anything.

Fred snorted lightly, clenching and unclenching the fingers on his right hand, stoutly ignoring how the movement stung. “You first, Georgie.”

“Together then,” his brother suggested wryly. “Raise your right hand and tell the truth.” That they did, baring the fresh wounds. Neither of them had bothered to bandage the wounds, wiping the blood off on the pants their mum was least likely to look at, but seeing each other’s new mark made both privately regret that.

Fred kept his own hand loose and relaxed, resisting the urge to clench it again in time with his jaw. As much as he and George had tried, they had never quite been able to pick up the perfect knack for each other’s handwriting. George’s tall, cramped lettering, when compared to his stout and loose print, was one of the few ways to tell them apart, and he had an infuriating feeling Umbridge knew it just as well as he did.

Fred had been made… _told_ to write four words.

 **I must be accountable**.

George, working with larger lettering in roughly the same amount of space, was told to write five.

 **I must not incite him**.

“Accountable?” George mused thoughtfully, tilting his head with a crooked smile. “I can’t say I see you working in Gringotts with the goblins anytime soon.”

“She blamed you,” Fred spat, unable to find the humor while he was glaring at his brother’s blood. “When she took me in, she told me to my face that she’d ‘been forced’ to punish you for what _I_ was doing.”

“Huh. I thought she punished me for it because she got us confused again.”

“George…”

Raising his eyebrows, George lifted his other hand placatingly. “Temper, temper, Freddie!”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Fred hissed, shoving him off the bed with a dull thud as he got to his feet, stalking aimlessly around the common room for several seconds before rubbing his hand against his pants again, the scratches tingling as they caught against the fibers.

George was right, of course he was right, and he was just trying to help lighten it up as they always did. Fred had been gifted with the worse temper between them, but only when it came to things that really mattered. Joking mattered, fun mattered, but it would still matter later, after George got what he deserved. He deserved _anger_ ; he deserved to know that Fred wasn’t and never would be alright with this.

When he looked over, the teasing light in his brother’s eyes had dimmed into something softer, somber. “Alright, Fred, I’ll admit it. The Toad won a round.” Spreading his fingers, he studied the words for several intent seconds. “Yeah, it still hurts, if you were wondering, but I’ll go ahead and admit this too: _love_ hurts. There’s no one else I’d rather be inciting.” When Fred didn’t respond within the next minute of silence, George leaned his chin on his unmarred hand. “I’m making confessions, being nice and vulnerable; don’t let me think it was for nothing! You didn’t leave your tongue back with the cats in Umbridge’s office, did you?”

“I’d rather have that over getting as sappy as you are,” Fred mumbled. Sensing that he’d won, George grinned up at him, leaving Fred to shake his head in vague, bitter determination. It had been less than a minute and already George had taken his anger and chiseled determination out of it instead. Were they really born knowing each other so well?

“We hit her back harder,” Fred clarified the terms of his defeat.

“Oh, yeah, _much_ harder,” George concurred, extending his bloodied hand. Exhaling slowly, Fred clasped it with his own and helped him up.

**Author's Note:**

> My family and I were rewatching Order of the Phoenix tonight and I wondered just what it was that Fred and George had to write during their detention, and whether or not they served that detention together. This is what came of it. I hope you liked it!


End file.
